Rinascimento
by wobbear
Summary: Grissom and Sara go out for a quiet meal. There’s a surprise. GSR


**Rinascimento **

**Author** wobbear

**Rating** General/K

**Pairing** Grissom/Sara

**Disclaimer** If I was paid for writing this, I'd be striking now.

**Spoiler info** Set before Sara left; spoiler free.

**Author's note** This started out as part of my recent fic, _A rose by any other name_, but got chopped. I hope it's worth this solo treatment. Happy New Year, everyone!

**Summary** Grissom and Sara go out for a quiet meal. There's a surprise.

* * *

"This place, it's … got character." Sara looks around the busy restaurant, nodding in appreciation. Framed map of Italy by the bar, candle wax dripping down the raffia-wrapped Chianti candle-holder, red and white checked table cloths and faded posters of Positano and Capri with the odd corner curling off the wall—it is classic Italian trattoria kitsch. But unlike the phony pastiches she's seen all over Vegas, somehow it seems real.

Grissom looks up from the tatty menu and chuckles softly. "That's one way of putting it."

The way-off-Strip eatery, tucked away in one of the older residential areas of Henderson, is Grissom's favorite Italian restaurant. Mostly they prefer the seclusion of one or the other's homes, but occasionally they venture out. This quiet Sunday evening marks their fourth outing. 

So here they are, snuggled into a cozy U-shaped booth in the subdued lighting of Piero's Rinascimento restaurant. Grissom is absently rubbing Sara's left hand as they both consider the food options. Each has a glass of wine: pinot noir for Sara and grigio for Grissom.

Soon, decision made, he puts his menu aside and takes off his reading glasses, tucking them into his jacket pocket. He squeezes Sara's hand to get her attention. When she looks up he smiles softly and inquires, "Need any help?"

"Nope," she replies cheerfully. "I'm just tossing up between pizza margherita and 'Piero's pasta of your choice with pesto'."

"Mmmm … with the latter you'll still have a further selection to make."

"Done: penne, always penne. Unless gnocchi are available."

Grissom looks like he's about to add something further, then spreads his hands in an 'up to you' gesture.

Sara sips her wine. "What about you? What are you having?"

"Ha, my usual. So I wouldn't be much help to you anyway. Each time I come here I study the menu, then always end up choosing the same thing."

"Which is … ?"

"Calamari." He smiles sunnily at the thought. "The batter's light and crispy, the squid tender, and the spicy tomato salsa is … mwah!" He smacks his lips in a loud air kiss.

Sara grins; it's great seeing him so relaxed. "Hmmm … I'll do _my_ usual, decide when the waiter's here to take our orders."

Grissom raises a doubtful eyebrow, at which she nods confidently. "It concentrates the mind really well."

He still looks a touch skeptical, but she has already moved on.

"So, you never told me—how did you discover this place?"

Sara is tracing tiny circles around his knuckles as she speaks.

"Um, uh," Grissom's brow wrinkles as he tried to recall. A movement in the corner of his vision makes his eyes dart sideways and he grunts a strangely flat "Oh".

Sara glances in the same direction and jumped. Snatching her hand away from Grissom's, she hides it in her lap.

Too late.

Far too late.

"Well, whaddayaknow? Never seen you here before, CSI Sidle."

At the end of the booth stands Jim Brass, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. A very satisfied smirk brightens his face.

"Gotcha!" He grins cheekily at the dumbstruck duo. "So, aren't you going to answer her question, Gil?"

Grissom sighs; he remembers all too well now. "Uh, hi, Jim. Thanks for introducing me to Rinascimento."

"Y'know," Brass waves his hand to encompass them both. "Y'know, if I read you right and you want to keep this, uh, thing between you quiet, coming to a restaurant half the LVPD detective squad eats at"—he pauses to shake his head—"ain't the way to do it."

Grissom looks across the table at Sara and shrugs, his hands raised in sheepish surrender. "I guess I was thinking more about the calamari than concealment."

"Huh." Brass rubs his chin. "Yeah, that figures."

"Good to see you, Jim." Sara smiles; she's never been so convinced of the need to keep their relationship secret. She scoots closer to Grissom. "Will you join us?"

"Love to." As Brass slides into the booth beside Sara, he catches a waiter's eye and mimes drinking.

He takes the menu Sara offers, then places it down in front of him. "Oh, 'scuse me for a moment, will ya? Gotta claim my win …" He speaks vaguely as he opens his phone and pushes some buttons. "Hey, Rick, I have eye-witness evidence that Grissom and Sara are an item … yeah, just a sec, I'll take a photo."

Brass points his phone's camera lens at the perturbed Grissom and warily grinning Sara.

"Incontrovertible," he continues speaking to the mouthpiece, pronouncing the word with relish.

"Uh, Jim …"

Taking pity on Grissom, Brass stops playing. He snaps the cell phone shut, ending his fake call, and sets the instrument on the table. He shakes his head again, grinning broadly now. "Man, you're supposed to be smarter than that."

Brass winks at Sara as Grissom lets out a relieved sigh.

"I will exact a price for my silence though …" His voice trails off as he raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Grissom sighs once more and dutifully jumps through the obvious hoop. "Jim, buy you dinner?"

"That'd be great, thank you." Brass smirks genially as he picks up the menu.

FINITO


End file.
